Rattle My Brain Return My Memories
by themissietheory
Summary: Two months after the end of Captain America: The Winter Soldier, James "Bucky" Buchanan Barnes finds himself in the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum, trying to find memories, one more time. When someone unexpected triggers one- sending him on a mission to get the answers he needs.
1. Chapter 1

**Fic: Rattle My Brain; Return My Memories (Captain America: The Winter Soldier; Following Post-Credit Scene (Post Scene 2))**

**Chapter: **One; 2,432 words

**Fandom: **Captain America; Captain America: The Winter Soldier; (eventually Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.)

**Rating:** PG-13

**Pairing: **Bucky Barnes/ Potential OC

**Summary: **Two months after the end of Captain America: The Winter Soldier, James "Bucky" Buchanan Barnes finds himself in the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum, trying to find memories, one more time. When someone unexpected triggers one- sending him on a mission to get the answers he needs.

**Author's Note: **Spoilers for Everything Marvel. Ever. Not really, just mainly Captain America and Cap 2

Bucky stared at the screen, trying to absorb every piece of information. It was him, he knew that much, but what he read, he couldn't recall. It hurt his head, attempting to make heads or tails of everything that he managed to find. It was amazing the amount of records that had been kept in the years since the war- since he had become a robot of the Russians… Hydra… Whoever it truly was. The memories would flash at the most unlikely moments, the smell of a deli on an unfamiliar street in Brooklyn, a song on the radio, a book on a shelf. All of this in front of him. Nothing new. Nothing from the dozen or so times he had made his way through the exhibit in the two months since he'd become free of Hydra.

It wasn't the escape he wanted. He wanted answers, he wanted the feelings of familiarity and the possibility of a history to come to him easier than it was. He couldn't- wouldn't track down the man whose name had started to pluck a string of familiarity, Steve, who- according to the videos and screens, had been his best friend up until the end.

_Till the end of the line._

He could remember saying that at some obscure point- the familiarity had been in his mind since that last fight. Details slowly pouring out of the woodwork. A camera. France. The rest darkness. But the way that Steve had said it, the emotion, the honesty, the need for something that Bucky had no ability to give him- had brought him a level of comfort, behind the anger and angst that seeped through every muscle in his body. That one phrase, that was the reason he lugged the punk out of the water, not leaving him to die, even though every order running through his mind told him otherwise. Orders that drove him insane for the next week, as he drove himself into isolation out of fear of going insane.

The orders, the words, the commands- they eventually subsided, but not until he had made it clear to himself- a promise- that he would not pursue his old friend until he had answers. Until he could form the slightest bit of a story, and be sure that it wasn't some figment of his imagination that had been programmed and implanted into his head. Instinctively- at least at the basic emotional level, he didn't want to hurt anyone else if he didn't have to. That included those who may or may not have once been his friends.

His jaw tightened as he forced his eyes to read the screen just one more time, following the words slowly, praying to any God that would listen for even a second worth of memories. No luck.

His feet pulled him away into the next room where a reel of videos played. The man on the screen looked like him, but nothing was familiar. His mind wandered, listening to a child get scolded by a security guard. A minute later of the child whining and crying, a voice soft, more familiar than anything else he had been able to recall.

"_Here kiddo, now you can be a hero. Those grouchy guards are a bit stuffy, huh? Don't mind them."_

Bucky's eyes followed the voice, coming from a brunette- a museum employee- who had just handed the young boy a small shield, immediately ceasing his crying with the nod.

Had he seen her before? Sure, she had probably been around during his previous visits, but what was it. Something about the way she looked, the curvature of her body, the small features. But something more. Something about the voice, the words. A bit stuffy, huh? His eyes glazed over as his mind processed.

* * *

_Russia. St. Petersburg Underground. 2009._

A soft smile pulled across the brunette's face as soon as the door slammed shut following the exit of the scientists and officials. He could have sworn that she was still a child- though his perception of time and age had slipped away, causing him to question even that base assumption that she appeared barely 18.

"They're kinda stuffy, huh?" Her voice was kind, soft- the complete opposite of what he had become used to over the years. He was sure he could sense a bit of laughter, perhaps a way of breaking the tension that had been building in the room for far too long, yet managed to linger even after the instigators had left. She was, possibly, American, though she spoke with perfect Russian inflection when the situation warranted it- that much he could recall.

He returned a slight nod, his blue eyes connecting with her hazel ones for the slightest fraction of a moment before returning his gaze straight ahead. The feeling was one of discomfort, he wasn't sure what from. The contact was new. She was new, the first female researcher that he could remember. As much as he could recall from what he had overheard, she was there as a favor to one of the long time officials, a niece or granddaughter with skills that she needed refining, and a project that needed brains like hers. Something horrible had happened to the man she was replacing, though as much as he strived to recall, the memory was blank, like so many others.

The smile remained on her face as she moved around the room, grabbing equipment. Again that feeling- it was her skirt, tan-khaki- he could see it under the snow white lab coat. Familiar from a time and place that was just outside of his mental grasp.

"I'm just going to place these on your temples," she said, holding up electrodes attached to a machine by the wires.

He nodded once more and sat up straight, a moment later, her warm fingers brushed aside his outgrown hair. Gentle. The word stuck in his mind, it was an action so unlike what he was accustomed to. Even the way the scientists and officers did the slightest actions- hand him food, push him faster down the hall, speak to him- it was so crude, brash and angry.

She sat eventually sat down on a stool in front of him, computer rolled next to her. "Alright, you can relax." He obliged, leaning back, preparing himself, instinctively, for the pain- physical and mental- that usually accompanied these tests. "I just need to establish a bit of a baseline to work off of. So all I am going to do is list off some words, just to take a look at the activity in your frontal lobes."

There was silence. He nodded, looking straight ahead, wondering why she seemed to act different from everyone else.

"Would you prefer I speak the in English or Russian?"

His choice? He shifted uncomfortably in his seat; the options were always made for him, never consideration to any preferences that may have been tucked deep down into his scarred and suppressed mind. "English, please," his voice grated through his dry vocal chords. When was the last time he spoke? He couldn't recall.

"That works for me," she offered with another smile," No need to respond, just relax."

He watched her turn back to her computer, fingers clacking away. He braced for pain. None came. Just the words she promised.

"Caterpillar. Rain. Car. Strawberry. Run. " A paused between each word, accompanied by the clacking of the computer keys. This time her hand left the keyboard, she faced him, "Slipper," his head twitched to the right side, an uncontrollable action. She was silent; turning slowly to the computer, her typing had slowed. He watched as she drew in a deep breath, her puffed up chest slowly decompressing. Their eyes met, she knew something, and the twitch- was it not normal? Her smile had completely vanished, she looked almost pained.

"Mission," his muscles tightened, the mechanics in his left arm shifted, the fingers tightening to the arm of the chair, one by one sending the sound of sharp cracking of slowly splintering wood into the air. He was suddenly filled with anger, yet unsure why. No one had told him what he was meant to be angry at. There was fire in his eyes; his muscles shook with unprecedented ire. And the girl- she looked terrified- eyes wide, turning back to her computer typing even faster than she had before.

"One last one, Sgt. Barnes," A pause, a lifted eyebrow and a hopeful look on her face," Banana," All the anger, the need to attack, kill, wreak havoc vanished. Muscles relaxing, the fire vanishing, clear headed His eyes met hers, a look of disbelief on her face, she nodded before breaking eye contact and turning back to type again.

Her feet shifted onto the floor, standing after a moment of hesitation," Good Job."

"That's it?" His scratchy voice reaching the airwaves once again. It seemed so simple; he'd been expecting much worse.

She nodded, hand on her hip, eyebrows raised," Yes Sgt. Barnes, that's it." He sat forward as her warm fingers found his skin again taking the devices off, returning them to the hook on the side of the machine.

"You know my name, I don't know yours," the words slipped out of his mouth with little thought, he braced himself for lash back. He couldn't recall them ever referring to her as anything but 'the girl' or 'devushka' by the Russians.

She sat back down on the stool, back straight. No lash back came. "That was rather rude of me, huh? Sorry. I'm Colette Tsvetkov, Sgt. Barnes."

"Nice to meet you," he was sure that he'd now spoke more in the last half hour than he had in the last year. The conversation, what little of it there had been with the tiny brunette, was nice.

She smiled before she turned back to her computer, "Nice to meet you, too." He shifted in the chair. Her eyes stayed plastered on the computer screen," Look, I'm done. You can go if you'd like. However, I'm going to be in here doing some stuff for a while," she over at him for a moment eyebrow raised," You're more than welcome to stay in here while I am."

He sat for a moment, taking consideration of both options. It was a dead giveaway. He'd choose the lab with the kind company, over the cold, lonely cell of a room, any day of the week. As Colette clacked away at the keyboard, Sgt. Barnes- Codename: Winter Soldier, leaned back into the chair. He could have sworn he'd seen her smirk.

* * *

The memory surfaced- one of the few that didn't need much other context in order to make things understandable. He shook himself out of his daze, finding the brunette employee flashing him a quick smile- that too so familiar- and then walking off as he offered a quick one in return. His feet pulled him from the spot, out of the museum, somewhere- anywhere to process it all. He managed to get to the convenience store down the street before his mind changed. The plan was no longer to dwell on the recollection, but to collect more answers.

She had been one of those who had messed with his mind. They had answers- they knew what had been done, so logically, they had to know what needed to be done to fix him. Buying a newspaper with funds he'd found tucked away in the oddest location a memory had driven him to, a cabin in the woods- he headed back to the museum.

He knew it was wrong, that there were better ways to find answers. But he couldn't help himself. No one gave him a second glance, it was just the scruffy an in a baseball cap, sitting on a bench and reading.

The paper hardly got any attention from him; it was nothing more than a prop. The news was… different than he was used to. So much hate, anger, violence. No support for soldiers and the war they were fighting, and so little respect for everyone, from the President to the kid down the street. It turned his stomach. He longed for the days past, and constantly wondered when the country took a turn for the worse. His daily wandering through the museums hardly gave way to an answer- any answer that he was looking for.

But she had them, he was sure of it.

The night came upon him quick. He hadn't realized just how much of the day he had squandered away in the museum. And before he knew it, her familiar face- Colette- was bounding down the stairs of the museum, headed down the same streets Bucky had been haunting.

A deep breath pulled through his lungs as he followed in the shadows, as quiet as death. Her face was the same, he could see it as the neon lights in the windows flashed against her pale skin as she walked briskly past them. Every so often, he could see her look back, as if she knew that there was someone following her. Barely a thought passed through his determined mind. She had answers, she knew, he knew she knew. His muscles tensed, closing in. Chest tight, a struggle to pull a breath into his anxious lungs. Predator and prey. His own personal mission. He had been away from it too long, what seemed to be written his genetic codes was taking over. She was closing in on his opportunity. The alley he knew he could grab her and slip down, no prying eyes, just a clear shot to his hideaway.

His toe caught the sidewalk, the sound of shoe scraping against the gravel caused her to stop and turn back, and he turned into a shop. He lingered for a moment then took back to the sidewalk. His eyes scanned the area, it amazed him how empty it seemed, though he was sure many families were settling down to dinner. He sped up, shoving the newspaper into his back pocket, his feet almost silent on the ground beneath his feet. He closed in, mentally counting the yards till he needed to make his move and then there it was.

Left arm around her waist, right palm over her mouth. She fought, kicking back at his shins, wiggling and struggling to get away as he backed them into the alley, the brute strength that had been natural to him for what seemed like forever, feet taking them where he needed them to go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter: **Two; 3,155 words

**Summary: **Chapter two, in which Bucky remembers more and then gets really freaking pissed.

**Author's Note: **Spoilers for Everything Marvel. Ever. Also, Tipping my hat off to Brubaker, who wrote the Winter Soldier story line and provided some of the information in which I am using here. Reviews and comments would be awesome, so please do! And to all the followers, I hope this is living up to what you want to see :) Thank you for taking a chance on this

* * *

Bucky sat down hard on the couch, the old piece of junk creaking under him. It was all wrong what he did, snatching the poor girl out from the street. He hadn't been that careful either, such tunnel vision, he hadn't realized until after he had made it back what mistakes he might have made. Perhaps the largest mistake was the strength of his grasp around her- or the fact that he used his palm. She'd passed out along the way- a block or so from his apartment, he'd felt her go limp. Stupidity. The momentary panic that he may have killed her had been short lived after finding her pulse moments after he locked his basement apartment door.

He had tied her to the one sturdy chair in the whole apartment. A fair amount of duct tape and ingenuity- sure it was going to hold- her wrists taped to the arms of the chair and ankles to the legs.. He'd been a mercenary, not an interrogator, and he suddenly felt a bit lacking in his capabilities.

He sat on the couch, staring at her, playing with his hands, nervous that this was the wrong approach. But what else did he know? He could have talked to her, but what if she was hunting him down, trying to drag him back him for them to wipe and manipulate again. But the back of his mind kept reminding him of the other side of the coin. What if she had gotten away- after all, what he could remember, she hadn't been there for the longest time. What if she was trying to blend back into the world and forget all that had happened in that lab. A villain, trying to get away with her crimes.

She moaned behind the duct tape gag as she came to. A nod came with the agreement that she wouldn't scream if it came off. He stood up, took it off gently and found himself sitting at the chair next to his kitchen table.

He watched as she glared him down, jaw locked, trying so hard to look strong and unbreakable, though there was the hint of fear- no- terror, in her eyes. "Sgt. Barnes-"

Anger overwhelmed him lifting him off of his chair, his metal arm bashing down on the rickety old table, denting the wood- rendering the piece of furniture useless. "It's NOT Sgt. Barnes." His mind switched between Bucky and the Winter Soldier with such ease that it caught him off guard sometimes.

"Then what the hell do you want me to call you." Her voice was angry, yet tinged with regret, throwing Bucky off kilter. "Mr. Barnes? Mr. Buchanan-Barnes? James? Winter Sold-"

He cut her off again, this time sinking into his chair, muscles still tense," Bucky. Just Bucky."

"Okay, Bucky," her voice was soft, almost as if she was trying to talk a suicidal jumper down from the ledge, though he could see her eyes starting to well up," I wasn't there to hurt you."

"You messed with my brain."

"I was there to get intel." Her voice rattled, she could see the flooding of her eyes starting to spill over.

"You DESTROYED MY MEMORIES."

"Do you think I wanted to do any of that?" Her voice came as more of a whimper than a bark, she was shaking. He was shaking. Her eyes flooding. The flood breaking over. Guilt struck at his gut. Had he been completely off base?

"What do you know about me?" He changed the topic, unwilling to linger on her emotions. She was playing with him- a pity game. Yes, that was it. He wouldn't fall.

Her eyes closed, jaw cocked to the side for a moment before she spoke, slowly, precisely," James Buchanan Barnes, Alias, Bucky. Code Name: Winter Soldier. Born March 21, 1917, Shelbyville, Indiana. Education: High School dropout, military training. Drafted, not enlisted. Father: Barnes, George M.- Deceased. Mother: Barnes, Winifred C. nee. Blanke -Deceased. Sister: Proctor, Rebecca, P. nee Barnes."

"What, are you reading my file?"

Her eyes shot open, startling Bucky," Yeah, yeah I am. What I remember. What I saw each and every time I opened the file trying to find the one thing that could make all the difference."

He could see her trying to calm down. He was sure if he had been in her place, being tied down to a chair, asked a these questions, he would have reacted similarly. But he knew he would be screwed as soon as he cut her free. He'd never get any answers and would be thrown into another cell- something he knew he wouldn't be able to handle.

"You messed with my mind, I don't want a file, I want answers." He growled.

Her face had fallen, still pained, her voice escaping her lips now weaker than even before," I was there for less than a year. I did what I was told. You have to understand, right? The importance of missions, orders. Your file was all the answers I had" The words were muffled in his ears, words she had said lingering.

"Becca's still alive?" His tone softened at the prospect.

The girl across from her silently nodded, "She was as of 5 or so years ago when I was still working in the lab."

He closed his eyes, trying to control the anger and confusion, yet much to his surprise, his thoughts swung to a woman, who looking startlingly like him, same burning blue eyes, cleft chin, and hair much like his, pinned back, hiding the long curls out of the way. His mother, his sister always looked to be one in the same, one just visibly younger than the other.

* * *

_Christmas Eve, 1942. Brooklyn, NY._

Bucky had always hated working at the newspaper factory. He always came home, reeking of ink and metal. But the pay was good, good enough to take care of his sister, and Steve- even if the kid didn't want the help. The hours were long, but he always managed to make things right. Kids just getting by in the mean city. They'd lost their mother a few years prior and their father less than a year before to the war. They pushed on though, Rebecca was in school, unlike Bucky who had pushed everything aside after his mother's death to stand up and step in as their father had been called off to war. It was for the good of the family, it was for the good of his sister. A girl who, at sixteen, was much too smart to be pushed off into an eternal punishment of factory work and scraping by every day.

Becca's face said it all from the kitchen as Bucky walked into the apartment. Either she was in trouble or something was wrong.

"Homework, kid?" Heading into the one bedroom of the postage stamp sized apartment to change- they shared the closet, he insisted she take the bedroom while he camped out on the couch. A good night's sleep is conducive to success- a weak argument, but enough of one to get her to relent.

"No school, Christmas break- spent the day helpin' out down at the library," he heard her call out from the kitchen. It had become routine- the questions.

"An' Steve, I thought he'd be here already?" He slipped out of his ink covered clothing and into a pair of dress pants and a shirt. Becca was making an effort, he'd caught a glimpse of her as he'd come in the door. Decked out in one of their mom's old dresses, modified to be even slightly more fashionable; Nevertheless, it made Bucky feel, if even for a moment, like things were the good old days again when his parents were still alive and Steve was their third kid. It all seemed right then.

"He's comin', runnin' a bit late, passed him on my way home. He's campin' out here tonight, too. Like old times." Bucky padded out of the bedroom, not bothering with a tie or shoes, his smile countering her frown," Buck." His heart stopped, her voice nearly killing him.

"Hmm?" He tried to brush it off. It was Christmas Eve, it was meant to be nice family time. Happy? Good things?

"Buck, there is a letter from the Induction Office on the table." He stared at her as she stirred the pot, shifting things from the stove to the good dishware; Family tradition, dinner Christmas Eve, brunch Christmas morning, and leftovers for days. Even though he'd told his sister she didn't have to, she insisted on keeping up with the tradition. But the Induction Office; it was enough to ruin one holiday, if not more.

He took a chair, grabbing the letter, tearing open the envelope, eyes taking in the words in front of him.

_**ORDER TO REPORT FOR INDUCTION**_

_**To**__ James Buchanan Barnes_

_Order No. __**557**_

_**Greeting:**_

_Having submitted yourself to a local board composed of your neighbors for the purpose of determining your availability for training and service in the land or naval forces of the United States, you are hereby notified that you have now been selected for training and service therein._

_You will, therefore, report to the local board named above at __**Brooklyn Public Library**__ at __**7:15 A.**__m., on the __**4**__ day of__** January **__, 19__**43**__._

He couldn't take in another word. He knew what it said; he had seen many people get them, the factories losing workers, slowly replacing the men with women.

"Is it-?" He heard his sister's voice fade off as she walked towards the table with a dish of steaming hot mashed potatoes.

He nodded, silent, face hard. He could see her heart breaking, as if she had known that it was coming but was actively refusing to believe it until he said the words.

He stood up, she knew better than to say anything- that silence was the best policy at this point. They alternated, bringing things in from the kitchen, putting them onto the table; Ham and veggies, food that would last them for days. They wouldn't start till Steve got there, they never did. Bucky sat down, burying his head in his hands, trying to work through his brain, every possible situation. After all, he was responsible for his sister, and he couldn't abandon Steve.

"Bucky, you know they're gonna take you," Her voice was soft as she sat down on the chair across from him, setting down a basket of biscuits, it amazed him how much she looked like their late mother, the way that worry was painted across her face, as if an artist had spent hours trying to recreate the looks they received in their childhood.

"I gotta take care of you, take care of Steve. They'll understand that, they gotta, right?" Desperation was clear through his voice, across his face. He was sure the terror was visible. There were reasons that he hadn't offered himself up for voluntary enlistment. He couldn't leave the people he loved.

"What if they don't, Buck?"

A deep breath pulled in through his nostrils, still fighting to remain calm and not let all the anxiety flowing through his veins appear on his face," Then Aunt Ida will take care of you. She said her offer was open ended after Dad's death. You'll check on Steve and I'll make sure that he's set."

"Of course I will." He watched as her hands dropped into her lap, forlorn look on her face," Buck, what are you gonna tell him?"

Bucky's jaw locked in concentration, eyes meeting his sisters, he shook his head," No. I won't say anything. The punk tries every name and lie in the book to try to get in. If they take me, I'll tell him I enlisted- that I beat the government to the punch. He'll never know what I was keeping something from him and everything will be fine. It has to be."

As if on cue, Steve's familiar knock came at the door. Becca nodded, watching as her brother stood up, walking over to her, slipping the letter into her hand, the silent understanding that she needed to hide it, as her hand slipped it into the pocket of her apron. "It's going to be alright, Little Bit," he planted a kiss on the top of her head, eyes squeezed shut, trying to push the fear out of his system," Let's just make the best out of this Christmas. I love you."

"I love you, too." Her voice was soft, small. He knew she'd break as soon as she closed her bedroom door that night. He'd make sure the radio was just a notch higher. They'd deal with it later.

Another knock at the door, Bucky stood up straight, pressing his charming smile across his face as he opened the front door, his best friend there- cheerful and clueless of everything that was happening. But it was better that way. It always was. It was his job to protect Steve.

* * *

She'd given him and Steve watches that year. He remembered as clear as day. He'd been so happy but so furious that she'd been working behind his back when he had been working his rear off to make sure that she didn't have to work. He couldn't stay mad at her for long. They had other issues to deal with. But in reality, he was never able to stay mad at her for long about anything.

He could remember that he fought with the enlistment office; they'd given him 28 days to get his affairs in order, a week longer than most. And off he went, 4 months of boot camp in New Jersey, a week to say good bye back home, then off to England where the rest was history. Rebecca there to see him off, tears in her eyes, breaking his heart- the last time he ever saw baby little sister, though they exchanged letters up until the end.

Bucky shook himself out of his daze, his breathing had calmed but he could feel the heat in his cheeks, the pain in his chest. These recollections sometimes were easy, but ones like this just wanted to send him headed for the hills- or in a corner till the feelings of loneliness and pain went away. His eyes shifted from the table to the girl. She'd been silent, yet crying the whole time he was in his memory. Out of fear or understanding, he was still unsure- the Winter Soldier and Bucky were at odds, an internal battle of safety or danger sitting in front of them. Enemy or Ally.

"Where is my file?" He asked, anger no longer in his voice- just flat and emotionless.

Her eyes were wide, confused," It was with you, never left the same vicinity as you. Always by the lab or your cell. God only knows where it is now."

"What do you remember from it?" His eyes met hers, almost pleading. At that moment, the good guy was there, not the Winter Soldier. He wanted answers, not blood and answers.

"Untie… err tape me, and I'll tell you everything that I remember." Colette said another sniffle, an attempt to bargain. He knew it. He merely raised an eyebrow and rested his elbows on his knees, eyes still on her. No answer was the only answer. "Alright, it was worth a try. You remembered something there, though. Didn't you? You used to get that look on your face, even when it was something so little as remembering someone you'd met in the red room. That was the first sign that they needed to wipe you."

"SHUT UP." He was getting angry. He didn't want to hear about the wiping. He wanted to hear about his past, he wanted to get answers.

She looked terrified again; he could swear her body was shaking in its tape restraints.

"Look, I'm just saying that there is a lot of stuff that was in your file that you might be better off if you didn't remember."

"Like?"

"Assassinations."

"That's nothing new to me."

"Fifty something of them? Men, women… children?"

He was silent. He could only total them from memory on his two hands, and barely even that.

"Fine." Her eyes closed again tears still finding their way out , " I think the first I can remember from your file was some doctors notes from May of 1945. I think it read: _Tomorrow we will begin the process of allowing the subjects body to regain its heat, in the hope that his blood will still be viable for testing. We are using an approach for this that one of our spies smuggled out of Hitler's most secret laboratories-_"

"Stop, just stop." He interrupted. His stomach had turned as she spoke. Maybe she was right, maybe he didn't want to know about this. The memories he had from the time were enough, they haunted his nightmares. "Zola, it was Zola." His eyes opened to meet the girls. Fire was on the brink of pushing out, though Bucky was doing all he could to hold it in. Catch bees with honey not vinegar.

"He was one of the scientists, yes. Programmed most of what they pushed into your head. It was crude, but the Russians refused to change it, no matter how much I pressed them." She paused, shaking her head, a few more tears staining her bright red cheeks. Her body was shaking more. He was sure that it was fear. He willed himself not to see it.

It was the pushing off of blame that threw him over the edge. Bucky rose from his chair, face tight lips pinched together. His feet were doing the walking, stepping to the chair, with each step the girl and the seat moving closer and closer to the concrete wall, adding emphasis as he spoke," You. Had. Control. Of. The. Computer. The. Machine." She was crying more, her shaking was rattling the chair, the back of the chair hit the wall. Nowhere else to walk. He leaned forward, the fire in his gut increasing burning through his whole body. "YOU. DID. NOTHING. TO. CHANGE. IT." He was nose to nose with her. Eyes inches apart- hers grown wide as tears spilled out with no effort. "YOU DID NOTHING." His mechanical fist slammed into the wall, a single crack in the concrete forming. She turned to look away, looking to her left. She wasn't going to escape her reality that easily. His mechanical hand slithered through her hair, long since disheveled, pulling her face back to his, he wasn't going to allow her the advantage of looking away while he told her each and every way she had messed up his life. Each and every thing she could have prevented.

The Winter Soldier wanted answers. The Winter Soldier wanted her to pay.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter: **Three; 2,602 words

**Summary: **Chapter Three, Overwhelmed by anger, something breaks and he realized that the one he thought was an enemy, really was an ally.

**Author's Note: **Spoilers for Everything Marvel. Ever. Also, Tipping my hat off to Brubaker, who wrote the Winter Soldier story line and provided some of the information in which I am using here. Reviews and comments would be awesome, so please do!

* * *

He glowered, he growled. What answers was he going to get? His fingers tightened, he was sure if they were tighter, he'd be able to scalp her in one felled swoop. And no matter how he internally battled, the bad guy was there staring down at the girl. "You don't know what you've done. How easily I could make you pay." His eyebrows rose. Cat and mouse, she was there so easily the prey, he had the chance to play. Why did it sound so enticing? "I want to make you pay. You deserve to pay. All of you deserve to pay. To steal someone's life. Their memories."

"I'm sorry," her lips moved, but the words didn't escape, just a silent plea.

Bucky's free hand leaned against the wall, gaining him leverage to come closer, closing any gap that had been between the two. "I missed everything. 70 years, 70 years I could have been living, not killing." She was in pain, pleading with her eyes, somehow he knew it was an apology. He knew that look, he'd seen it before.

* * *

_Russia. St. Petersburg Underground. 2009._

"You're not getting attached to him, correct. He's not some sort of pet that's going to stick around forever. Let me remind you, we send him on his missions; he comes back and goes back into cryostasis. Understood?" Yakob Orlov, the head of security for the location, spat at Colette as she stood up from her seat.

He'd caught them having a conversation, Colette laughed, Bucky smiled. And then they walked in. Hell broke loose.

"Understood, sir." Colette replied with a shaky voice. Orlov didn't even bother to address Bucky, but he had never really been worthy of that action to begin with.

"No, I don't think you really understand." The man was an oaf, oversized and angry- he'd be set off at the slightest thing, spreading the rage through the whole day. He'd seen others taken down in seconds in the Red Room when the man was in one of his moods. Something had to have happened. The man grabbed Colette's arm and yanked her across the room, the scientists merely averted their eyes.

She didn't say a word, appearing too stunned to even do so. Orlov backhanded her. Bucky shifted in his seat, sitting up, ready to pounce, but sitting still after a look from her.

Before he knew it, Orlov was in her face, screaming in Russian- threats, warnings of the things they would do to her. That she may have been an amateur but the man she was so kind to, was nothing more than an asset, a machine at their use- for whatever they pleased. Including destroying her, if they so wanted. That alone stirred the fire in his gut. Orlov smashed her cheek against the hall- far more violent than she deserved- than anyone deserved. Bucky wanted revenge, there was nothing he wanted more than to bound out of the chair and bash in heads. No one treated him that way, and no one treated _her_ that way- especially since she'd never been anything but quiet and kind.

Yes, there had been a connection. He flashed her a smile upon his return from his latest mission. Cocky and full of himself, feeling almost like a playboy or a soldier coming home from war. If he couldn't remember anything more than the moments that they had in the lab, that was fine. A least he'd have memories of kindness, and not feeling so lost and alone.

His hands gipped onto the arms of the chair, forcefully reminding himself that intervention, anger would just make things worse, Orlov's yelling increased, turning back to order them to wipe Barnes. Bucky's teeth gritted, furious, hurt that they were going to do this to him again when all he wanted was his past. Before he had even the thought of lashing back, the restraints closed down on his body, holding him back. He opened his mouth, forcefully barking at them to stop in English, then Russian, and then English again- a desperate attempt to get through to them at any end. His pleas were ignored as Orlov's hand grabbed Colette's hair, whipping her around to face Bucky. Tears were streaming down her face, bruises forming on the cheek that had taken a brunt of the assault. The mouth guard shoved into his mouth, not a moment for a fight, though his voice still raised up, he knew his words were incoherent.

"Miss Tsvetkov here," Orlov said, looking around the room at the other scientists," Miss Tsvetkov is about to learn the most important lesson. Why us Russians never make nicey-nice with the animals set for slaughter." Bucky could see Orlov's hand tightening in her hair, making her stand even taller- taller than he knew she really was. She was shaking, Bucky was furious.

Eyes met, hers apologetic, his pleading- though he knew that there was nothing that either of them could do.

He could see the pain in her face as the waves of energy rolled through his brain and his muscles, his eyes never leaving hers as every memory in his brain slipped away. His eyesight blurred, her face vanishing behind the sounds of his screams.

Then darkness.

His head ached, uncomfortable chair. Where was he? His eyes opened, the room was bright, too bright. Eyes squinted, he pushed himself up in the chair- something didn't feel right. The blurriness cleared out of his eyes, something shiny caught his eye. His arm, replaced by a chunk of metal. Flex fingers. They moved just the same. Somehow he was okay with this. He couldn't figure out why. A noise came from his right, his head whipped in the direction. Brunette, thin, tiny form.

"What happened?" His voice was strained. He felt like he had been screaming. The girl whipped around, her eyes red and puffy, though the hazel eyes still managed to show through. Though distraught, her voice was soft and seemingly unaffected.

"Sgt. Barnes, It's nice to see you up and moving."

He raised the mechanical arm, repeating himself," What happened?"

Her lips pinched to the side, taking a seat on the stool next to him," You were injured during a mission, replaced your arm with that mechanical one a while back. You signed the paperwork when you enlisted, do you not remember?" She sounded pained, yet the words were painted with professionalism.

He shook his head, he couldn't remember anything.

She nodded," Don't worry; it's a common reaction to the medicine. Sgt. Barnes, I'm Colette Tsvetkov, I'll be taking care of you. Can I just check your vitals? Then I can walk you back to your room so you can relax- I know how this medication wears you boys out."

He nodded, watched as she slipped a device over his right index finger.

He was confused.

So confused.

* * *

Tears were still pouring out of her eyes. His breathing heavy. His grip loosened as he stared into her eyes, eyes that were as terrified as he remembered.

He was a monster.

He was no different than those who destroyed his life.

His fingers opened, her hair dropped to a knotted mess behind her head.

Bucky broke eye contact, stepping away, hearing Colette trying to catch her breath, he was sure she had stopped herself from breathing. Her shaking rattling the chair against the wall, sending the noise through the apartment. Even the darkest side of him knew what he had done was wrong. At least to her.

"Why were you in Russia?" He was standing straight, eyes still locked with hers, though he was pretty sure that she was too afraid to turn away again.

She sniffled, still struggling to catch her breath," I was undercover getting intel. God, I swear to God I never knew what was going on when I agreed to go in. If I did, I never would have done it."

"Intel for who?" Could she have been working for someone worse?

"S.H.I.E.L.D."

Not worse, but not exactly good. "So you are an agent."

She shook her head emphatically," I'm a scientist. They needed someone unsuspecting who knew how to remember and read the data. I fix things, program things. I don't kill or hurt things, I swear." More tears. There was no denying that they were real, that this was the furthest thing from an act.

"Why did you leave?"

"They pulled me. I didn't want to go. I was almost done programming the failsafe. My S.O. was sure I'd been found out. I begged him, I begged him to let me stay and finish."

"Colette Tsvetkov?"

She shook her head again, "Colette Mulligan. Tsvetkov was just an alias."

He was silent, quick to turn and grab her purse, rifling through confirming everything, even the credentials that were tucked away in the bottom of the purse. Science. Research and Development.

"I didn't know it was a Hydra cell I was undercover in, no one ever spoke of it," she rambled, the words only tinging the edges of Bucky's mind, "I thought you'd come to take me out- that I was a target. Everyone's been dying since shit hit the fan."

He heard the words, he knew the feeling- spending every day terrified that it was going to be his last. He turned back, leaning against the table. He was silent for a moment, eyes locked with hers. He couldn't do it. She had been his escape, even if it was in the littlest possible way and for the shortest period of time, but it was more than anyone else had given him. He shifted to his feet, taking the switchblade out of his pocket, slicing each tape restraint open, freeing her- turning his back, struggling to make heads or tails of his emotions.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have- I didn't mean-" a pause, a huff," I'm an asshole. You can go." He sat heavy on the sofa, his head buried in his hands- he knew it was the beginning of the end.

He listened to her stand, grab her bag off of the table, followed by the slow, shaky, hesitant steps towards the door. A brief creak open, quick slam shut.

It was the footsteps back toward him, followed by the motion of another body occupying the sofa that he hadn't expected.

His right hand left his face, glancing at the girl," What? Shouldn't the big, bad monster have scared you off?"

He could still see the fear painted on her face- second thoughts and regrets he was sure were coming from not running. She shook her head, wiping her face dry of tears with the sleeve of her blue cardigan. Bucky found himself digging into his pocket and pulling out a handkerchief, handing it over wordlessly. Contrary to what he had displayed that evening, he hadn't forgotten how to be a gentleman- even if he forgot everything else.

"No, it's not scaring me off," She sniffled, her voice raw, nasally, "I'll tell you this much- what they did to you was inhumane. I barely slept the whole time I was there- it STILL keeps me awake, makes me sick to my stomach- haunts me. As much as I would like to deny all involvement, I was there and I never stopped it."

"You-"

He tried to tell her otherwise, but she cut him off. He didn't blame her, he'd done it to her enough that night. "Let me finish. I failed in that regard. But I need to help you make things right. I _want_ to help make things right," She sniffled again, fingers rubbing along the edge of the piece of fabric, her eyes glued to it as she spoke," When my dad died, he left behind a lot of Captain America crap," she rolled her eyes and an emotional laugh escaped," An unbelievable amount of Captain America crap. But in all of that, there are videos and documentaries that are filled with info and interviews. It might help. And the museum- If we can get you an ID that won't trigger any alarms, national security-wise, I can get you in to take a look at the stored artifacts."

His gaze turned from the floor to her face, staring while her own gaze didn't move," You knew who I was?"

She nodded, staring at the handkerchief, playing with the hem as if it was the only thing to focus on in the world, "Even before I got my hands on your file. Director Fury desperately wanted to send in an extraction team once I told him. But he couldn't. Kept saying that something didn't feel right. We just kept it quiet, only him and I knew."

"Fury is the one I-"

Her hand rested on the top of his, cutting him off, a reassuring pat from warm skin, followed by a quickly retracted hand, it was enough. "Yeah, but to be honest. It was better that he didn't see the organization that he lived for, dragged clear to hell- by no fault of yours, by the way." There was silence.

He knew there was only one route, and if he had someone on that ride, he'd take it. "I'd really appreciate the help."

She nodded and turned her head toward him, finally looking him in the eyes," You got any plans tomorrow afternoon?"

"I spend my days wandering around the museums, trying to make heads or tails of things like when music changed, or how they fit music on those super small records. So no, I don't."

He could have sworn he'd seen her attempt to stifle a laugh," Meet me outside of the Air and Space museum at 1. I have the early shift. I'll bring some of what I have along with."

She broke their gaze and pushed off of the couch, though he could admit that he was sorely disappointed in the loss of proximity. Those few minutes had added an added comfort. "I'll be there. Colette?"

He watched as she slung her bag over her shoulder, "What's up?" she said, turning around, eyes meeting again.

"I am very sorry."

"Don't be. Look, it sounds bad, but you're emotionally volatile right now, and it's completely understandable- at least to me. I'm just glad Hydra hadn't sent you to kill me. So, so glad" her hand reached out with the handkerchief- an attempt to return it. She'd done nothing but play with the edge of it the whole time, like a child with a comfort blanket.

"Keep it." He paused," Thank you." It was the most genuine thing he'd said in decades. He was sure that, had it been anyone else, they wouldn't have even made the effort to understand. Perhaps it was the emotional scars of that lab.

She smiled, fingers still lingering on the edge of the square of fabric, lifting it slightly, a smirk pulling at the corner of her lips, a simple nod in response to his words. "So, tomorrow, one-ish?"

"I'll be there." Their eye contact broke as she turned, his eyes following her to the door. This time she left.

His body sagged under the weight of exhaustion. Still confused as to how he could mess up so much, et walk away ahead of where he had been. Frustrated that the other side of him, the angry mercenary could find his way to the surface so easily. He just prayed that the help she offered would pull through, to help bring him back to where he needed to be.

To fix him.

Stay tuned for chapter 4!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter: **Four; 4,589 words

**Summary: **Chapter Four

**Author's Note: **Sorry about the delay in getting this up. It was my last week of undergrad and I had to make an effort. To make up for it, here is a super long chapter with added Steve. But wait, there's more! More words there is.

* * *

_Brooklyn, New York. July 4__th__, 1942._

Bucky's face was flat in the cushion of the couch, he was sure he had been breathing in the dust for the last lord knows how long. He'd fallen asleep late into the night, after sitting up with Steve who struggled to shake an asthma attack. Way to start a birthday, huh. Steve had fallen asleep first, with sleepy eyes Bucky made sure of it. That was what friends did. It had always been like that.

Hushed voices played at Bucky's ears, Steve's and Rebecca's coming somewhere from the proximity of the kitchen table.

"How 'bout that?" Bucky could hear Steve say, the scratching of his pencil ceasing. His sister giggled, music to his ears.

"What about a moustache," her voice was coming from the same place as Steve's," Oh, and a monkey hanging from his arm."

"Which arm?" Bucky knew Steve would oblige, his drawings had always amused Becca, since she a little one, and even though her ideas of what to add got more and more ludacris over the years, Steve never said no.

"Left, definitely the left one."

"You got it," Silence, except for the scratching of Steve's pencil, filled the room again. Bucky thought about turning over to try for more sleep. Working as much as he had been, he'd found it increasingly more difficult to sleep past the crack of dawn. Hushed laughter from the two of them crushed his intentions. He could tell they were struggling to keep it down. Steve's laughter eventually stopped.

He listened to Becca giggle more, even more hushed," He kinda looks like Howard Stark."

A pause and a laugh in Steve's tone as he responded," He really does. Don't let your brother know that or he'll grow a moustache and try to use _that_ to get girls."

She giggled even more, it was music to Bucky's ears, it had been two month since their father's death, and while they had been coping, she had been taking it rather hard. "Yeah, he'd try anything. Better erase that."

Bucky shifted his left hand from the floor where it had flailed over and rested on the floor at some point in the night. Face flat in the cushion, he turned his head to the side, lifting it up, seeing the two of them hunched over Steve's sketchbook, pencil in Steve's hand moving furiously across the paper. Right there, it was their family, all the family he had ever wanted or needed. "I heard that you two."

He watched as their eyes shot up, staring blank faced at Bucky before breaking into laughter- Steve starting to close his sketchbook. "No, no, no," Bucky pushed himself up off the couch, bare feet padding along the worn wood floor, "I really wanna see this." His eyebrow rose as Steve rolled his eyes comedically and flipped his sketchbook open. A smile remained on Steve's face while Becca's had fallen slightly and her eyes had made a point of looking any place but at her brother.

Hands on his hips, he shook his head realizing that his hair was starting to get wet with sweat. It was going to be a scorcher of a day- but what New York 4th of July wasn't. "You know who Howard Stark is?" The girl had her nose tucked so far into fictional books, that it honestly surprised him.

"Um, yeah," He saw her face light up, he lifted an eyebrow at Steve who looked as if he was on the borderline of laughter. Becca had always been a point of comedy for the two of them, whether she realized it or not. They both knew Bucky was about to get his ass handed to him- it happened every time, "He was at the library a week ago, I helped him carry some things in. Some meetin' for next year's Expo. Oh, he's so swoony."

"You're a bit young to be thinkin' of boys like that, Beck," Bucky teased.

"I'm fifteen, don't you go forgettin' that," she bit back with a raised eyebrow.

"No, you're still five," he teased further," Always have been, always will be." He sat down in the seat next to Steve, grateful for the cooling power of the fan blowing in their direction- perhaps an effort to blow the heat of the oven out of the apartment. Bucky watched as his sister playfully stuck her tongue out at him, shaking her head before popping up from her chair at the sound of the kitchen timer going off.

"Don't you usually bake later?"

Steve's voice piped up as Becca turned her efforts to taking the cake out of the oven. "Blackout's tonight, told her _she didn't have to_," Steve leaned back in his chair voice raising at the last part, trying to get his point across, seemingly unfazed by the possibility of change in tradition. Maybe that's how things were going to be since this war seemed to overturn everyone's lives. Hell, he and Becca had made it a point to start rationing sugar and the necessary supplies. The girl had even foregone her own cake a month before, without the slightest complaint. Though, Bucky was positive that she considered Steve to be as much of family as he did. There was a love there, protection- it was there for everyone.

His sister loudly rested one of the pans on a cooling rack, making her presence known," And I _told him_ that birthdays and their cakes are too important to ignore. Even for a blackout."

Bucky raised his eyebrows, looking at Steve, "This is one of those rare occasions that Becky is right." A dish towel flew from the kitchen with impressive aim and hit him in the face; he pulled it off, laughing with the other two, "What's the plan for today? Same as every year?" Bucky's eyebrows rose with excitement. It had been the same thing since they were kids- since their parents had to accompany them to Coney Island.

"Nathan's for the hot dog eating contest. Witching Waves-"

"The Cyclone," he pushed, as he did every year.

He got the stink-eye from Steve, who proceeded to ignore the comment," Helter Skelter."

"Then Shoot-the-Chutes, then the Cyclone, then the beach-"

"To rub shoulders with the dames." Bucky and Steve nodded at each other, sly smiles on their faces. Steve's head stopped nodding suddenly, straight faced," But seriously, no Cyclone." A few moments of silence, Steve started laughing, a laugh rising from Bucky in return.

"You got it, it's your birthday."

"You're right it is," Steve smiled. It made his day, how, even though everything that happened in their lives, the many downs, and the few ups, they still had days like this- where everything seemed to be on an even playing field, no need to worry about anything. At least for a few hours. Steve's head turned towards the kitchen, voice piping up a little to attempt to get it to carry, "You wanna come with us this year, Beck?"

He had to admit, the offer came up as a bit of a surprise- she'd never been invited along before, even at the younger ages, where Mrs. Rogers had watched Becca while their dad had taken Steve and him to Coney Island. Same traditions.

He could see her face redden, if only slightly, he was sure that the girl, at one point, had the slightest bit of a crush on Steve. Though, he wasn't sure if it still lingered- he'd been slowly losing the ability to read that on her face,"Thanks Steve, but I've got plans already."

Bucky's gaze turned, head snapping towards his sister. This was the first he'd heard of anything, "This is news."

"Buy a paper, Buck. It's ooooold news." She said teasingly.

"And what are these old news plans."

She shrugged, "Goin' to the picture show."

"Soundin' a bit short on the details, kid."

Her eyes widened, an exasperated groan coming from her mouth, "Davey is picking me up," she paused, craning her neck to look at the clock, "In half an hour, to take me to see Yankee Doodle Dandy."

"Davey…" The name was new, however he was pretty sure that he may have actively tuned it out to avoid an unneeded rise in blood pressure. Had this been how his father felt?

"Davey Proctor. David Proctor Jr." She said, her cheeks had reddened even more, matching the dress that she was wearing. How had he not noticed it before? She'd made a larger than normal effort to look nice. And was that makeup?

"As in Dr. Proctor's kid?" Steve piped up. To which Becca replied with 'an mmmhmm'

Bucky closed his eyes for a moment, fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose like his father used to. "Be home before dark."

"I was already planning on it, in fact, dinner will be ready by the time you guys get back," she said, flashing a charming smile as she left the kitchen, walking past the table, only turning back when she hit the bedroom to stick out her tongue, and vanish- closing the door behind her.

Bucky turned to Steve, exasperated, "She's still five, right?"

"And we're still twelve. Might be time for you to accept the inevitable. Least it's someone decent takin her out."

Bucky nodded in response. "Yeah, you're probably right, Jiminy," he'd started using the nickname after the cricket from Pinocchio reminded him of Steve. "That's a pretty good picture, you really should try to find a job drawin'- art direction or something."

Steve raised his eyebrow, "Might be a good direction. But right now, we oughta go, otherwise we are gonna be late."

Bucky nodded, pushing himself up from the chair, grabbing a set of clothes out of a chest in the hall and headed to the bathroom to change.

The day, while a scorcher, went seamlessly. Watching men gorge themselves on hot dogs had become a staple of entertainment every year, though the crowds seemed thin. The lines to the rides were shorter than years past. But the beaches were filled with women. One of the few benefits of being in the city while there was a war going on across the big blue ocean. Better male-to-female ratio, and better odds. They flirted, Steve even managing a number- that Bucky was sure he'd never call, and then headed back.

There were no fireworks that year, on account of the war. It was better that way. A better way to show support for those fighting. The air raid sirens blared 400 times at noon, another way. Sure it was loud, but it shook everyone to the core, a reminder that many people wanted to forget on that patriotic holiday. The lights went out that night for an hour- President's orders. They camped out in the living room, fan on, candles going- enjoying the splurge of a meal, and the first real cake they had had since the rationing started. And though the damper of the deaths that the three of them had endured over the handful of years before, hung over their heads, they laughed for hours. And even after everyone else turned their lights back on, they left them off, the three of them eventually falling asleep on the couch cushions that had been moved to the floor. Reminiscent of days past, but a reminder that none of them were really ready to grow up yet.

* * *

He was awake but he wouldn't let his eyes open. If he let them open, then he would be awake with no hope of falling back asleep, no matter how much he willed himself. The fact that he dreamed had come as a relief. Many were the nights that he found himself waking after an hour of restless sleep, in a cold sweat and reeling from the images that passed through his mind- assassinations, the lab, the red room, abuse, torture, brainwashing- all things that he wanted to go away. Things that were better off locked so far in the recesses of his mind that not the strongest manipulator could get them out.

The dream was a welcome memory, one of so few that managed to spring up. A sigh later, he shifted intent on getting comfortable on the couch again- he had tried the bed so many times, not being able to get used to it. He could recall that he had fallen out of favor with them even before his drop from existence. A shift onto his right arm, the sun beamed through the window, across his face. He groaned, cursing the daylight- though he was aware that it had been the first time he had slept till daylight in a good while. A soft sigh later, he was pushing himself up, swinging his legs over the side of the couch; eyes immediately greeted with the remnants of the nights events.

He'd hoped it was a dream.

What he had done to that girl was far from acceptable- he reminded himself. Hoping that he could get something through to the messed up corners of his mind that seemed to take over when stress rose. But she relented, never the less. He had an ally, more than he could have asked for – considering the circumstances- and precisely what he needed. Perhaps it was the little information that she had imparted on him that helped trigger the memories of that day. He could remember the heat from the apartment, the sun beaming down on his body, and the sunburn that he felt for days. And his sister- oh how he longed for those days. It may have been sad, so soon after their father had passed, but everyone was as happy as they could be, with the war looming at their front step, so close to taking everyone away.

His hands cupped his face, fingers massaging his eyes, wiping the sleep out of them. How had she been told? Had someone been there to take care of her after? To comfort her as she cried? His stomach dropped. Becca had been dropped into the world alone- by no choice of her own. He had sent her that last letter, promising to see her soon- the war seemed so close to an end at that point. He had promised movies and ice cream- anything that could make it up to her for leaving her in a lurch, leaving her with their horrid Aunt Ida. Apologies for trying to run off that boyfriend of hers. Promises that there was nothing that was going to take him away from her again- that once he got back, he was going to be the best big brother that he could be. To make his father proud- to make his mother proud. Did they say that he was killed in action? Or was it that he was missing in action? Or even worse, had she heard nothing- being left in the great unknown when everyone came home, and he never turned up at the doorstep?

Tears pulled at his eyes. It had been 70 years. She had now surpassed him in age three times over. In physicality and memory.

And Steve.

He couldn't remember when Steve became the man on the bridge- the one he pulled out of the water. The one who seemed to break him from the mental block with the single utterance of his name. When was he no longer the scrawny kid he used to protect, the one he bent over backwards for to make sure he was okay?

Sure, there had been more than enough information scattered across that museum, but he couldn't REMEMBER, he just was. He was that scrawny kid, and then he was the man on the bridge. The man who told him to finish it, because it was with him till the end of the line.

_Till the end of the line_

It rattled in his brain, like it meant even more than the words that had been said. He wished that he could remember when he said it; perhaps he wouldn't be so lost. He wouldn't be so afraid to search out that man who was so different from the memories that were coming through.

Bucky pulled at his hair, right hand slamming down on the alarm clock as it started to blast music that his ears could barely tolerate.

Some days he wished that he was still blissfully unaware. It was less complicated. No holes to fill in because he couldn't recall enough for them to exist.

Pushing himself off of the couch, he glanced at the clock, it was a little after 10:30. His aching body made its way to the shower, enjoying the range of heats that he could have caressing his body. Trying to push the aches and pains out of his muscles. Days like this, he swore he could still feel the aches straight down to the fingertips that had long since been replaced with metal.

Out of the shower, he stood in front of the mirror, staring long and hard, trying to recognize what he was seeing. His beard had grown out quite well, but it was never the right look for him. He had just gotten to the point of being so lazy and uncaring to make the effort to shave it. His hair, though wet, hung down to his shoulders, different, though he'd become rather impartial. It was when he caught a glimpse of the scarred tissue between his body and prosthetic, that he had to turn away- had to resist the urge to slam his fist into the mirror. His marred body disgusted him, the fact that it was done to him against his will, just reminded him of memories better left forgotten.

He tied back his hair and slipped into jeans and a t-shirt, throwing his sweatshirt over it, realizing that as time wore on, he was becoming less and less recognizable as the man he had once been.

His mind twisted, as his feet pulled him forward to his destination. This girl said that she was S.H.I.E.L.D.- an organization long since ousted. But what if they were out for him, what if she was Hydra and everything that she said had been a lie. What if this was a set up to get him? She had, after all, made the choice to stay instead of run off, after all that he had done. How could he know that the memories that had come across his brain, hadn't been implanted in there?

His feet stopped on the pavement. He'd have to be on his guard. Pay close attention. He battled his internal mercenary. The downer part of his brain. She knew where he lived. Surely, a team would have been sent to take him in, rather that meet her in public. After all, snatching him in a crowd in broad daylight would raise some suspicions. And from what he could tell from the newspapers, the government had enough issues getting trust from their citizens as of late.

His feet propelled him forward again, the internal argument continuing the whole way, until he found himself back on the bench that he had spent a great deal of the previous day sitting on.

"So, you want to get some coffee," Colette's voice drew him out of his internal battle. Just how long had he been lost in his thoughts? She was standing there, bright blue cardigan hanging on her arm as her bag slung across her crisp white shirt and rested on her black pants. Why was it now just striking him just how well everything hugged her body? He shook the thought from his head, gazing around the area, seeing nothing that he would be able to consider remotely suspicious.

He looked up to her eyes from under his hat and nodded, standing up. "Lead the way." They walked in silence. He wanted to ask if she was alright, but had trouble getting the words off of his tongue.

He opened the door of the café from her, garnering a shocked thank you in return. He tried to pay, but she wouldn't let him, as much as he argued. He shoved the ten in the tip jar, giving Colette a wide-eyes look of teasing as they picked up their coffee. He heard her chuckle, and mumble something about him being a cheeky bastard.

She led him to a table in one of the many recesses of the café. It seemed to be closed off enough, and at the same time, allowed him the advantage of seeing everything around him, lessening the edge that something was going to happen, at least without him seeing it coming.

"I wasn't sure you were going to show," Colette said after a few minutes of silence, as she focused on the process of adding cream and sugar to her coffee- perhaps a little more absorbed in it than a normal person would be. Bucky, he took his black, spending those few minutes slipping his hat off and watching the girl.

"Why is that?" He shifted in his seat, pressing the cup up to his lips. Coffee, as he had learned, was another thing that had changed over the years- though this one was for the better.

"After last night, I actually got a bit worried that you were going to head out of town. That I may have come on a little too strong and eager in helping you out, and you'd think that I'd have had an alternate agenda."

"No, no," he protested, his words a lie as they spilled easy from his mouth, as he rested his cup back down on the small café table," It stunned me a little… a lot. But." He paused again, his brain stopped, unable to find the words to continue.

He was relieved as she let his lack of words linger in the air for a moment before she spoke up. "I was just worried that since you knew where I used to work, it might have been a bad thing."

His eyes scanned the space before resting on hers, "Honestly? It was a struggle." He paused again, this time his lips opening up," I think it was what I could remember from… from... the lab… That was helped ward off that anxiety."

"So that is how you recognized me? Memories?" There was a bit of shock on her face. Was that really that shocking, Bucky wondered.

Bucky nodded," Yeah, I remembered something with you asking me a bunch of random words."

Colette nodded in response," That was the first one-on-one."

"Then last night," he felt his face pale, what he remembered, what he did, it all made his stomach turn. "I remember them wiping me, and forcing you to watch. Then what convinced me that it was okay to trust you is that when I woke up again, you weren't any different. Even though I was… nothing, again."

As much as he knew his face paled, it was nothing compared to how much hers blanched. Had he drug something up that she had been attempting to forget. "That was a rough bit there," was all that had escaped her mouth. Her gaze locked on the coffee in her cup.

"I'm really sorry about last night. I-" his eyes flickered around the place one more time- this was his last time, he told himself. "Sometimes I feel like there are two different parts of me, one takes over and I can't- I can't control it that well."

Her gazed moved up to his, her hazel eyes understanding yet concerned," It's fine. It's actually something that you should probably expect for a while still. At least from what I… I read."

"You," he paused, struggling to change the topic, he could tell it was making her uncomfortable," You uh, said my sister's last name last night. She married. What was her last name?" His eyebrows furrowed, leaning back in the seat, shooting her a pleading look.

Colette nodded, voice lacking the energy that had been there a few minutes prior," I believe it is Proctor."

Bucky shook his head," I'll be damned."

"You know him?"

Bucky nodded, laughing softly, leaning up against the table," Before I was shipped out to England, I tried running the kid off-"

"Wow, big brother moves haven't changed much in the last 70 years." Colette offered up a raised eyebrow. Energy, excitement returning to her voice and face, "It's pretty impressive that the guy stuck around. It's a good thing."

Bucky nodded. Intrigued, had she let loose a piece of information about herself? "So you have an older brother?"

He heard her take a deep breath in through her nose, "Two actually," he could have sworn her gaze waivered as her focus drew to the purse by her side, digging in and pulling out a folder that seemed to be jam packed with papers many turned yellow from the years. "I don't have a great relationship with them. I never really have." Her fingers flipped through the contents of the folder. He had struck a chord with her, the guilt for it was overwhelming. The fact that he kept doing it unintentionally, made him feel even worse

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to dredge up-"

"No, it's fine, it's fine," she cut him off," You have no need to apologize for anything. You didn't know." She flashed a smile, though he felt as if it was almost filled with more pity than anything else. She closed the folder, had she been busying herself to avoid questions? She pushed it over to him, their eyes locked," So this is what I have managed to find so far, a lot of it is replications, newspaper articles and fliers. Something may help though."

Bucky merely nodded, hands reaching to the folder, opening and flipping through.

"I have more, videos and reels. There's no chance you have a DVD or VHS player?"

He looked up from a flier for war bonds, eyebrows pinched together, "A what?"

A half laugh pulled at her lips, he tried not to be offended," That's what I thought. I'll," she paused for a moment, fingers play with the stirring straw in her cup," I'll figure something out."

Bucky quirked his eyebrows, "What are they?"

He watched as she grimaced," They're these devices that hook up to TVs and play movies. VHS came out in the 70s, I think, and DVD in the early 2000s."

Bucky nodded, so much still managed to go over his head. "I guess I'm just still trying to get used to televisions being as big screen-wise, and so thin. Color. Clear."

Colette nodded, a sense of understanding in her motions, "There is a lot to get used to. Just… don't stress about it."

He raised an eyebrow, "Experience?"

He watched as she shrugged, her chest rising and falling slowly, "Not to your extent, but I've known some who had been overseas fighting- and no matter how many magazines or movies, or whatever we sent over, when they came back a year, sometimes two later. They struggled to cope. Technology and everything just seems to progress so fast these days. And they struggle to cope over there too, everything is just so different. Yet nothing stays the same"

He nodded. It all made sense, not that the extent of it mattered. His fingers pulled through the papers, there had to be something in there. Anything.


	5. Chapter 5

Rattle My Brain; Return My Memories Ch. 5 Summary:

Two months after the end of Captain America: The Winter Soldier, James "Bucky" Buchanan Barnes finds himself in the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum, trying to find memories, one more time. When someone unexpected triggers one- sending him on a mission to get the answers he needs.

**Chapter: **Five; 3,046 words

**Summary: **Chapter 5,Progress, Headaches, and PTSD

**Author's Note: **Spoilers for Everything Marvel. Sorry about the delay in getting this up. Life. Plus I had inspiration for the next chapter while I had writers block for this one, so the next one will be up super soon.

* * *

Bucky felt a lump growing in his throat.

The paper, a Missing in Action letter that had the words 'Rescinded' stamped in red across the paper.

It was a scab in his brain, he knew what was related to it, but he just couldn't pull it hard enough. Though even the lightest jab made his head ache.

"This," he spun the paper around to face Colette, "Missing in Action?" He would rather say he didn't know at all, than admit to having an idea but not being able to access it. Something deep within him didn't want to look even the slightest bit incompetent in front of this woman.

She was silent, and he sat there, face hardened- he could feel it, and in any other situation, he wouldn't have cared. But again- it was something deep within him. He watched as her eyes scanned the paper.

"That was towards the beginning of everything over there," she said, sympathetic smile on her face," Your unit- and a few others- had been captured and you had been held with a thousand other men. They had done some-" she stopped, rubbing her hand across her mouth. Was she trying to hold something in? Could such a simple action make it so? She was silent, and he waited. She broke their gaze, looking at the table for a moment, before her eyes met his again, "They did some experimentation- in fact that is why they- the Russians…" her voice softened, barely a whisper for a single word," Hydra, thought you survived that fall. But before your friend- Steve- Cap- whatever you want to call him. Before he risked his ass to save all of you, they were about to send those out. Missing in Action. Never went out."

"Do you know what happened in there?"

She shook her head," Neither you nor him ever said anything about it. Not to the government, not to a camera, not to any of the guys who you worked with after- the Howling Commandos."

The term sounded familiar, though it felt as if he was scratching at that scab again. A deep breath pulled into his lungs, trying to clear his mind. There were dozens of other questions. And more and more seemed to pop up as he made his way through the documentation. Transcriptions of interviews, articles, photos. Things he wanted so badly to remember but couldn't. More pain in his head, the dull ache turned into a dull throbbing. Was he trying too hard?

"Steve- when did he become…" He pulled a picture out of the folder- it wasn't Steve, it was Captain America," That?"

"Big and bulky? Captain Muscle Man?"

Though she had laughter in her voice, he merely nodded in response, slight smirk pulling at his lip.

"In… June… of 1943, Rogers submitted himself into what we now call the 'Super Soldier' program. It was a serum created by a Dr. Erskine…" He listened as she recapped everything, from the program to the shows in which he was paraded around like a monkey.

He nodded. Wordless, wishing he could remember, yet grateful for the understanding of how he scrawny man had become

"Another question."

"I'm here for any questions, I really do mean it." She said with a smile.

"You know most of what was in my file, right?" he asked, voice soft as he considered whether he really wanted an answer.

She responded with a nod as she sipped her coffee.

"How long was I in cryo? I mean I still look like I'm still in my twenties."

She looked very calculated and precise in the way that she set her cup down. "You were in a long time. In fact, the reason you still _look_ like you are in your twenties, is because_ technically_ you still are. You may have been out for possibly 4 or 5 years worth of time. When in, time technically froze. No aging, no growth."

"So I only aged when I was out." It made no sense to him, but then again, he was never a man who under stood science.

She nodded.

"Then how did Steve… you know…"

"Similar, frozen for seventy years- crashed into the artic, was only found a few years ago."

"So how long did they normally keep me out?" He was speed questioning, almost hungry for answers that had been dragging on his mind.

"Few weeks tops. Early on it was a month, maybe two."

"And a couple months ago?"

She dragged a deep breath in through her nose, the noise seemed to echo off of the walls Her gaze waivered, he could feel the reluctance of the information," It was the longest they had kept you out since the 50s- it had been about three years, but then you started filling holes back into your memory." she said, her eyes everywhere but meeting his. "In the 70s you were sent over here to take care of some things," her eyes went wide, using context clues to fill in the blanks- obviously worried about what those around them could hear," You went off the grid. Two weeks. Eventually tracked you down to Brooklyn. They lugged you back, wiped you, and stuck you in the freezer. That was the first… and last time they lost track of you." Finally something clicked. She must have seen it in his face," You remember something?"

He nodded," A couple months ago, right after." He pulled a breath in though his nose," I remembered this cabin, it was a pain in the ass to get to- over grown, run down. Didn't look like anyone had been there for decades. My sister and I went there yearly with my father. I had," he paused, hands held apart," A huge sum of money and a bunch of stuff tucked away."

"Explains the clothes- and apartment, I wanted to ask but…"

"-Weren't really sure you wanted an answer?"

She shrugged," That may be one way of putting it. Though, it's a good thing that deep down you managed to remember that you had, in a way, given yourself a contingency plan."

"I suppose it's a good way of looking at things," he finished off his coffee, lost in his own thoughts. Still confused as to how some things could come so easily to him, but the rest, so much of it, escaped him no matter how hard he tried.

"Are you okay?" Her soft voice drew him out of his daze. Where exactly his mind had gone to, in those split seconds, he had forgotten. "I mean, it's a lot to take in."

He nodded, "Yeah, it's just giving me a bit of a headache."

Her hand reached forward and closed the folder," You can't push to remember everything at once. Little bits."

He felt his hand slipping off of the folder, accepting the fact that came out of her mouth. He knew he pushed it. Going to the exhibit as often as he did, sometimes standing there, pushing his mind until he couldn't bare it anymore. "I just want it all back."

He watched as her lip pulled to the side slightly," I know. And I wish there was a way, I really do."

His gaze pulled from her lips to her eyes, lingering for a second before he spoke," I know. I'm really grateful for what you're doing. For this," he tapped the folder with his mechanical fingers. "For being different than everyone else in that lab."

Her face dropped, eyes pressed closed for a fraction of a second," It doesn't change what happened there. I'm just trying to fix it. What no one else there would ever do."

He nodded," And that's what makes you different."

A smile cracked on her face. It almost felt like an accomplishment. "Thanks for seeing it that way, Bucky."

"No prob-" He stopped at the sound of shattering glass. His whole body tensed, eyes darting around. He could feel the mechanics retract in his left arm, as his hand curled into a fist involuntarily. His eyes scanned the windows, frantic, feeling as if this was a bad nightmare that he had lived before. Was this the end? Had he let his guard down so long that they took advantage of the gap? Were they coming for him?

* * *

_Lower East Side, NY- March 10, 1973_

His head hurt, much more than it should have. His feet had taken him here. To Chicago by train. To here, New York, by bus. He'd stumbled around, managed to pickpocket and swiftly steal relatively large sums of money from people and businesses, triggering no alarms. A quick ride into the mountain to stash everything in place that mere gut feeling told him to go, he made his way back to the city.

He didn't know where he was going, though by the recommendation of a man he'd come across at the bus depot, he'd managed to find himself in a flophouse- a small fee for a bed to sleep in. It was good for him. Everyone kept to themselves, no one asked any questions- then again, he didn't have any answers to give.

He tried pushing himself, trying to get answers, but the harder that he tried, the worse the headaches became. And occasionally, the headaches were accompanied by a bleeding nose. He was sure something wasn't right, but there wasn't much that he could do.

He spent his days wandering around the city, feeling as if there was a reason that he needed to be there- that there had been a history hidden behind all the darkness of his mind.

He didn't know who he was. A woman, who had to have been in her mid fourties accompanied by two teenaged children, thought that he was a man named Bucky, then quickly shirked away, apologizing- half in tears. Explaining that he looked startlingly like her brother who had died in the war. He felt pity for her, as she walked away in tears- the arm of the older child wrapped around her shoulder, but nothing more.

David. That is what he told them his name was, but then again, he couldn't quite remember. His arm- a prosthetic, though only one had asked, and that was a child, quickly shooed away by his mother with an apology for her son's lack of manners.

He had just settled down, relaxing on his bed, book propped open, more to look like he was actually attempting to accomplish something- while he put his efforts into trying to pry open more of his mind.

The window shattered. A man in a police uniform entering, while others came from every possible exit. They were there for him. He wasn't going to make it easy. He swung, clocking the officer through the window with his mechanical arm.

More appeared. Grabbed him by every limb, managing a grasp though he struggled.

He lost track of how many it took to haul him to the car, but it was more than a few.

The door to the police car shut.

An arm snaked back, needle thrust into his arm and injecting something before he had a chance to relax.

His eyesight blurred.

Darkness coming as the car jerked forward. The officers cussing up a storm at him.

Coming to, he was back in the lab. Familiar lights, familiar grasp of the restraints around his body.

The man looked him in the eyes, white coat. Anger in his face.

He had completed his mission. Missed the extraction point, and the man made it clear that he had been a huge drain on their resources, all because he couldn't follow orders. Now, he was told, he was going to pay dearly for that mistake.

That wipe hurt the worst of them all. Tearing his brain apart and putting it back together. Mindless enough that he walked back into the freezer to be kept until they needed him again.

* * *

Colette's hands were on top of his; the sudden warmth pulled him from the memory and brought his eyes back to hers, his wide to her concerned. "It was just a dropped plate." She nodded towards the front counter; somehow he had overlooked the shattered dish. His chest loosened, air flowed in and out of his lungs as he waited for the heartbeat in his ears to slow, for the tunnel vision to subside. For the shaking to stop so that he would feel alright letting go of the warm hand that he had grabbed onto instinctively as soon as it had appeared. "Just breathe Bucky."

He didn't understand, he was finding comfort in her voice, even though he was terrified out of his mind. He closed his eyes for a moment, and everything started to feel normal again, like the edge of the paranoia was fading out in his mind, yet still aching in his muscles.

"Maybe it's time to head out of here," he heard her say, though he hadn't yet opened his eyes. "It's almost five and the after work caffeine rush is going to be here soon." There was a pause before she spoke again," Is there anything I can do?"

He shook his head, eyes opening a few moments later, looking into her worried ones. "No. I just…" he paused, trying to sort out his thoughts; everything was a jumbled mess between reality and that day in the seventies. "Yeah, I need out of here."

He watched as she sat their nodding, retracting her hand to put away the folder as soon as his grasp left hers. She was swift, folder back in the bag, standing from the chair- he followed her lead as they headed out into the fresh air- the traffic- the movement of the city.

Stopping a block down, where the crowds had lessened, Colette turned towards him, voice soft, caring, much of what he needed at that moment as his body and mind returned to a level of stability," Are you alright?" The words were straightforward.

"I think so." He nodded, finding his body lean against a wall," The littlest things. I don't even know what happens sometimes."

"Triggers. Memories you may not quite remember, that are still tucked in the back of your mind. You just have to remember that it is all going to be okay."

He nodded," I'll do my best."

"And remember that I am here as long as you want me around. Do you have a phone?"

"Just the one in my apartment, and I don't even know if it works. Don't have anyone to call me," he said, attempting a joke, knowing it was falling flat.

"Okay. Well, I will get you one, and get it all set up for you. Do you have any plans Saturday?" She asked as she shifted to lean her back against the wall next to him. He was still having a hard time grasping why she was doing this- being kind to him, helping him. Especially after all that he had done to her, and all that she knew he had done in the world. Then again, he wasn't going to turn down the help.

"No plans. Everyone I knew is kind of… dead…"

He swore he saw her roll her eyes, laugh in her voice, "You'd be surprised how long people can live, Buck. Maybe I'll have to do some research."

"Good luck with that." His eyebrows rose. Such pessimism.

"Alright, Saturday late afternoon maybe around 4ish, come by my place." She was digging through her bag, the folder in her hand, jotting down something with her other on a spare piece of paper. "I have those videos, and I can get some that I don't have on loan from the museum. I figure maybe we could try something more- visual." She paused," I mean, if you still want to try to do this."

He nodded, taking the folder and the paper from her hand, the notes she had been jotting down, being her address. Surprisingly, he knew the area. "No, I really do want this. But," he held up the folder briefly before resting it down at his side," How did you get all this?"

"Like I said last night, my dad had a lot- it's been in the family forever."

"But the letters- the formal military ones. One's that I am positive were supposed to be destroyed."

He watched as a smirk pulled across her face. "A girl's gotta have her secrets. I'll tell you one day- probably soon. But, the time has to be right, and your memories have to be in the right place. Right now, it'd just be words, and names, with nothing you can connect to. Will you trust me on this?"

Bucky took a deep breath, it added more frustration to his blank mind, but it was possible that she had a point. Not being able to place things could frustrate him even more. His head bobbed in agreement," Alright. I haven't had any reason to not trust you so far."

The smile that peeled across her face was surprisingly rewarding," And I don't plan on giving you one."

He smiled, for the first time in as long as he could recall, the stress- the anger- the confusion and anxiety had hit a low. He felt almost normal, hoping it would last," Thank you."

He watched as she pushed herself off of the wall, shoving her hands in her pockets," It's really no problem. It's the least I can do. So Saturday- 4ish. I'll even make dinner."

"You don't have to do that." She was already doing so much, he hated the imposition.

Shaking her head, their eyes stayed locked," I know. I like cooking though- and I rarely get a chance to do so for anyone but myself."

"Alright, four," he seemed rather at ease about the idea. He still longed for more answers. He watched as she smiled, offering up a goodbye before heading into the crowd of people.

What was he doing, thinking? Hell he struggled to understand what he was feeling. The further she got, the more anxious he felt. Feelings popping up that he was positive that he hadn't felt since before his world turned upside down.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter: **Six; 3,984 words

**Summary: **Chapter 6, Emotional Breaking Point

**Author's Note: **Spoilers for Everything Marvel. Also, I want to again tip my hat off to Brubaker, through these chapters I have been pulling stuff (history) from his Winter Soldier plotlines through the 00's.

* * *

The days went by slower than Bucky would have liked. Sitting at his damaged table, flipping through the folder that he had been given, trying time and time again to remember something. Anything. Memories of his childhood, a few with his sister, Steve- a precious one with his mother. But nothing more. Nothing that could lend way to what happened after he had been shipped off.

When Saturday came, he was more that grateful for a chance to escape his dark, dank apartment. For the first time in three days he left the basement bunker and headed out- hair tied back, hidden under a baseball cap. With his black hoodie, grey tshirt, and jeans, he managed to blend into the flow of foot traffic that led him to the more residential area of town. He counted down the houses, eyes darting around to be sure that he wasn't being followed. More habit than anything.

1599B. It was exactly as she had written on the paper, Light Grey Duplex, door on right side with tulips out front.

His feet pushed up the few steps that led to the door on the right side of the house, tucked between the building and a fence.

A deep breath, convincing himself that he wasn't going to freak out or bail, he rapped on the door.

For a moment he hoped that there would be no answer. Closed quarters, and though he was sure it wasn't true, the underlying thought stood that he could have been walking into a trap. He could hear a dog barking- lazy barks as if it was too exhausted to make the effort to run for the front door. He heard the padding of feet on the floor, and the sound of deadbolts unlocking- one- two- three. The door swung open, Colette standing there clad in jeans and a mint-green v-neck t-shirt, hair sopping wet.

"Sorry, I think I'm a little early," he said, his voice soft and apologetic. Then again, for all he knew, he was late. He had attempted to remember that he needed to invest in a watch, but his mind was so cluttered at times, that it never happened.

A smile pressed across Colette's face," It's no problem," she pressed the town to her hair, trying to dry it- or at the very least, stop the stream of water droplets. She moved to the side," Come on in, make yourself at home."

Words easier said than done. He stepped through the threshold, struggling to keep his breathing steady. She shut the door, locking the deadbolts before skirting around him. "Three locks?"

"It was a risk staying here after S.H.I.E.L.D. went down, so rather than head into the unknown, I wiped my past from everywhere I could, and battened down the hatches."

"Did you work at the one-," he petered off. He never knew the name, directions to the location. Just coordinates which he had been driven or led.

She turned back, "The Trisk." She nodded. "And I pissed off a large amount of people in my department when everything started happening. Found out that more than a few of the people I worked with had… Alternate views of where the agency should have been heading."

"Hydra?" she merely nodded in response, before another question escaped their lips. "How'd you piss them off."

A deep breath pulled in through her nose," I deleted a large amount of data from experiments we had been doing- then smashed the hard drives to bits. I figured that I'd rather the data and hard work go to waste than into the hands of Hydra. My thought process didn't go over too well with them."

He watched as she lifted her shirt to reveal a handful of reddened scars on her stomach, still trying to heal, tapping on one of them with a slight smirk as she rounded the corner out of the room. They were stab wounds, he had seen enough of those through his lifetime to not even have to ask. He could feel anger building up in the pit of his stomach- the same feeling he recalled from when he watched them throw her around the lab all those years ago. "You're okay though?" he asked, the concern in his voice obvious.

"Yeah, it aches sometimes now. The doctor said that I had lucked out, they missed all the vital stuff." He merely nodded, taking comfort in the fact that she was alright.

"You've got a nice place," he said as he found himself glancing around what had to have been the living room. It wasn't what he would have expected. Homey and bright. Couches made it feel welcoming, one long, black leather taking up a wall, the other an outdated fabric- a love-seat, separating the entrance from the rest of the room. TV and stereo system was set up at an angle. One wall was completely taken up by bookshelves filled to the brim with books and what he had recently come to identify as DVDs. The top was picture after picture, all framed with care.

She had smiled then walked out of the room, voice piping up, "Thanks, I'm kinda stuck with the place till, like the end of forever." He heard her laughing. He walked forward, feeling a bit out of place, finding a picture of Colette in a white dress, next to a man in Army dress blues.

"Married?" He asked, pointing at the picture.

"Widowed." A half smile pressed on her face. He could see the pain hiding behind her eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It was… I knew it was a risk when I agreed to marry Riley. He was Army. Paratrooper. Special Forces."

"If it's anything like back in the day, that is pretty risky."

She smiled and laughed, "It was. He was struck by an RPG. But," even though the smile was plastered on her face, he could still see the pain in her eyes, "He was doing something that he loved. It was his life." He heard her draw in a deep breath, a brief smile as her dog, a black lab rubbed against her leg. Before moving over to sniff his hand, "That's Bubba," Bucky smiled and rubbed the dog's head. "Anyway, Riley's partner likes to keep a close eye on me. So if you decide to wander around the apartment, I'd avoid the back door if it is open."

"Why?"

She pulled in another deep breath, head bobbing to the side for a moment, "You two," she pointed at a picture at the end of the row, the man familiar. From the helecarrier, from the day on the bridge, he distinctively remembered yanking the man down from the sky- by one of his wings. Still a weird concept, but wasn't everything these days. "You two have had a couple of run-ins, if what I have heard is correct."

His face hardened, stomach turning- was it too late to bail? Had he walked into danger?

"Don't worry. Sam doesn't know." His eyes met hers, there was something genuine in the way that she said those words.

She spoke again," Look, I didn't know how else to mention it to you without creating some unneeded red flags," she paused, half-grimace, half-smile pulling across her face," And I had to mention something or-" she petered off, the half-smile shifting to a full grimace," Please don't hate me."

His eyes held hers for a minute, contemplating, calculating risks. "I don't." He paused, "I won't." Another pause," I'll try not to."

Her face remained unchanged," I'll take what I can get."

His mouth opened, wanting to say something more, but unable to find the words- simply because his emotions were still lingering high up in the air. He left silence as he scanned the pictures, hoping she was truthful about it just being a way to get him there, and it not being a trap. Trust, he didn't have much of it, though she had proven trustworthy in everything he had encountered before- at least that he could recall. "So what did you get your hands on?" He finally said after too long of silence. He turned to look at Colette, nervousness painted over her face, slowly turning into a smile.

"I managed to take out some films on loan from the museum, even scored a projector." She said, pointing to a projector much like the ones he'd handled back in the day.

"You got that here by yourself? Those things aren't that light."

He watched as she laughed and shrugged," Yeah- a little ingenuity, my car, and a bit of pouting for help from the boys at the museum. I may be tiny but I can still lift quite a bit, anyway."

"And I wouldn't doubt it for a second."

"Wise," she said as he watched her move across the room and pull film reels out of a duffel bag that had been tucked away under one of her side tables.

"I'm capable of catching the drift every once and awhile." he smirked with a hint of a laugh. He watched as she struggled for a moment, trying to get the reel onto the projector. Finally stepping forward, arms reaching around her to help shift everything into the correct position. As soon as he realized his proximity, he stepped back quickly," Sorry."

"No worries, " She shot a smile over her shoulder," Would you mind setting this silly thing up? I'm afraid my goal to set this all up was based purely on guessing."

A smile pulled at his lips as he replied with a," Sure," he was glad to be of some use. Stepping forward, she stepped back while watching as his fingers, both human and mechanical , moved with kill. Muscle memory, he was sure. "I worked at a movie theater for maybe two weeks when I was a teenager," he was content that the memory seemed to crop up so painlessly.

"Why only a couple of weeks?"

His fingers pulled deftly at the film, shifting it into place. He was silent for a minute, finishing the task and trying to pull the answer from his memory. It came was slow as molasses. By the time he looked up with the answer, Colette was standing there with a patient expectation. Was she a saint? She had to have been to keep dealing with all of the shit he kept bringing to the table. "I think- my dad wanted me to focus on school- not free films. And watching my sister- since my ma had passed and he'd been off at various military bases."

"He was a military official?"

"A General. I think he knew war was coming before most people. I can remember being furious that he wouldn't let me work. Then again, I wasn't the best student, I should have probably taken advantage of it. Probably wouldn't have dropped out."

"Sometimes life provides more valuable lessons than sticking your nose in a book all the time," she had a smile on her face, "It took me forever to learn that myself."

"What's the smile for?" it had piqued his interest.

"No, I'm just- I'm glad you're remembering stuff- it's a really good sign, especially the muscle memory of putting that film together."

"Not as glad as I am," he smiled back, content with the response, content with the fact that she was making the continued effort, content that she cared," So, what is on these films?"

"Footage from the war, interviews from during the war- you and Steve. Interviews with the Howling Commandos, Peggy Carter, ranking officials, stuff like that."

"Howling Commandos. The phrase sounds familiar." He found himself sitting down on the smaller of the couches.

Colette sat cross-legged on the opposite couch," Apparently you skipped that part of the exhibit," she chided.

"Well," he rolled his eyes, comfortable with the lighthearted mood," I had more pressing matters on my mind," he was overly snarky, but it elicited a laugh from the girl.

"I'll give you that one." She winked. "The Howling Commandos were a special forces team, consisting of you, Cap and five other men – a mix of British, French, and American. All but Cap had been held in Germany by HYDRA. You all were a task force that had a main goal of taking down HYDRA and their bases, but also were crucial in some of the Allied victories in Nazi run places."

Bucky nodded, trying to take in facts, but nothing popping into his head," Names?"

"Dugan, Jones, Falsworth, Morita, and Dernier."

He shook his head, no names triggered any memories, as much as he had prayed for something," Nothing."

"Well I've got these films. It's really important not to push," she shoved herself off of the couch, flipping on the projector, both of them watching it flicker to life against the white wall.

He found himself leaning forward on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, hands tented over his mouth in a praying stance as he stared at the wall. Images out of his past that he couldn't even recall. It was like watching a poorly made movie, trying to put himself in the character's place but being unable to because it seemed too unrelatable. He was there, fighting in the background, sights that seemed all too unrealistic, perhaps making it better for at-home American Consumption. It was silent, all but the films and the accompanying audio. Rolling on and on, only pausing to switch to the next reel of film.

He finally broke, Bucky's eyelids fluttered, pushing blurriness out of them, not realizing that he had been crying until the feeling of wetness triggered the nerves in his human hand. The dog had rested its head on his lap at some point in his recollections. Colette was there by his side a moment later, a box of tissues offered out towards him. It was wordless, he was grateful, taking the box with a nod, not even making the effort to make eye contact. In his peripheral, he could see her taking her seat back on the other couch.

He knew he should have been embarrassed- that instinctively he would have been embarrassed anywhere else. But something was right here. He pulled a tissue out of the box, wiping his face dry as he worked on getting the tears to stop. It rattled him to his core how he was unable to recall any of that before. How he had nearly killed the man who had been his best friend- a friend since childhood- a friend whom he had known the littlest things about that most would not have even cared enough to make the effort to grab.

His eyes closed as he felt the dog hop into the open spot next to him and then nuzzle closer to him. The proximity surprisingly comforting. Bucky wiped his face dry again and shoved the tissue into his pocket, taking the moment to gain control of himself.

"I can turn it off if it's too much," her voice was soft, barely more than a whisper.

He shook his head," No, no."

She took it with a nod, shifting back on the couch, watching the wall.

He stood, flipping to the next reel, standing watching as it flickered to life. The next reel was a whole new set of material. He was on the screen next to Steve, telling tales of their childhood- only a few that he could actually recall. Hadn't even had a chance to sit down again when he heard it.

_Till the end of the line._ They each spoke on the wall.

That phrase, he knew it.

It had been something more than normal when_ he_ said it. That man- _Steve_.

With all that they had yelled back and forth during that time on the carrier, it was that one phrase that reverberated in his mind.

He was remembering it, standing outside of Steve's apartment- the one Steve had shared with his mother until she died. It was the day of her funeral; they chased him down, not being able to find him to give Steve a ride home from the cemetery. He was standing in front of the door, begging Steve to come back to his place, his family had wanted him to- Steve was family after all. He was bending down, handing the scrawny man the key to the apartment. Hand finding the scrawny man's shoulder, _"I'm with you till the end of the line, pal."_

Then he was in France, some back alley of a war torn city that had fallen in the days before- won by the good guys, because they had Captain America there to help kick ass. They stood in front of the camera, laughing, smiling more than they had in the days prior- recounting things from their childhood. 'Instilling more good faith for America' Cap and his best buddy fighting to make the world a better place. _'With you till the end of the line, buddy'_ the words out of his mouth, a promise. A smile from the bulky man, still so odd to him, but it no longer mattered- while he didn't have the man to protect, he still had his best friend, _'Till the end of the line, Buck.'_ A promise back.

Then it was two months ago. The memory that he revisited way too many times. He was angry. The man kept calling him Bucky. The man was his mission, but he kept claiming that he had been friends. He had to complete the mission- this was a test, right? Maybe if he did this, if he ignored the fact that something in the back of his mind wanted to accept that he may have actually known the man, they would let him be. That this would be his last mission. He was punching, fighting. He had the man pinned to the ground. He could see the Potomac under them. How easy it could be to just break through the glass, fall to the river and be rid of it all. If he admitted that he thought he knew it- they would just wipe him again, and everything would be gone once more. He couldn't handle it. With every word the man said, he attacked again. He couldn't give, he couldn't let this man know that the words he was saying, as much as his mind tried to fight- something in him said that it was true. His mechanical fist thrust forward repeatedly. His human arm and shoulder ached under him, he was sure there was, at the very least, a dislocation. It would have been a fatal blow, he had ramped up enough energy behind it. But then the man said something. _'Then finish it. Cause I'm with you till the end of the line.'_ Those words. He couldn't move his arm. Frozen in time as the carrier started to break way under them. And as the glass gave way, he hung there, mechanical fingers grasping onto the metal of the carrier, watching as the man, whose words reverberated in his mind- fell to the river, submerged. Something cracked in his mind. He no longer wanted to focus on that mission, the thought made him sick. Something wasn't right about everything that they had done, everything that they made him do. And above all, the fact that the man he had just let fall, possibly to his death, wasn't going to fight. The man who had seen Bucky as something other than the Winter Soldier, more than an asset. Was it proof that what little he could recall was reality and not something implanted into his brain? His fingers let loose, and he tucked himself into a position for the least impact into the water. He lugged the man out, leaving him on the sand, waiting- watching only a moment until he could see the breaths. That the man was still alive. That he could one day track him down and make things right- when he remembered. _If he remembered._ When he was no longer a threat. _If he was no longer a threat._

His breath hitched, legs weak beneath him, emotions taking over. He didn't even make it onto the couch, sinking to the ground as the images pass in front of his eyes blurred by the tears. He couldn't breathe. His world collapsing in around him, body shaking, tears rolling off of his face, bouncing off of his arms, his shirt.

He didn't know quite when it happened, but she was there. Legs straddling his, her arms around him, and he had managed to bury his face into the crook of her neck as he sobbed. His arms snaked around her, anxiety and guilt flowing through his body like needles coursing through his veins. His heart ached, his limbs were numb, and every regret he ever had pounded his skull.

And she just stayed there. Comforting him, whispering words. Telling him it was alright, to let it go, that it was all going to be okay. Her words were soft, he could feel the compassion, breaking through the aches that his past brought him. Breaking through every bit of inner conflict he encountered trying to remember his past.

He couldn't remember the last time someone cared this much. Cared more than a couple of kind words. It had to have been before- back when things were still alright in the world. Before Hydra had taken him and screwed him over. Steve, the friendly pat on the back. Sitting up next to him, a comforting arm tossed around him when nightmares of his torture popped up. But that was 70 years ago. 70 long years, filled with mistakes and crimes all brought about by brainwashing that he never wanted. That he could never escape because he lacked the inability to remember otherwise.

"I killed so many innocents." He could only remember a few, but the numbers she told him were different than his memories. Though the totals sounded right. He could remember murdering a whole family- clean shots each and every one of them. Not even giving a second thought as he took out the pleading children. Why had he never given it a second thought?

It was the mission.

Mission. The word rattled in his brain like the phrase the man said on the helecarrier. Something stronger, something more.

"It is not your fault." Colette had moved, forced his face to shift up- forcing him to stare her in the eyes. Her hands were on his face, wiping the tears from his cheeks with her thumbs. Had she started crying too? "It is not your fault, Bucky. They… we…" he could see her jaw lock, conflict in her own body," Messed with your mind. You were not in control. You did what you were told, but had no escape." Her thumbs wiped more tears from his face, "You CANNOT blame yourself. I won't let you."

He sat there paralyzed, unable to move, unable to comment, unable to do anything but absorb the words that escaped her mouth. He wanted to believe. He wanted her to be right. He wanted everything that he had done to vanish from his past. He wanted to not remember the horrible things he did. The pain that he caused others. He wanted to go back to the days when everything was good. Before he was drafted for the war.

More tears slid down his face, and she just sat there, wiping away each and every one of them. It made his heart ache. His arms snaked back around her, and hers instinctively hugged around him. He needed the proximity. He needed to know that just one person on the face of the earth didn't hate his guts.

And if it was her. That wouldn't be so bad.


End file.
